


Tsuki no Tsuppane

by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf), Starrie_Wolf



Series: Legend of the Sun and Moon (the Onmyōji series) [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Heian Period, Kitsune!Rangiku, Kitsunegeddon 2019, M/M, Mikado!Ichigo, Onmyōji!Kisuke, kitsune!Gin, onmyōji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2020-10-25 21:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Silmari%C3%ABn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: They have scarcely begun to unravel the complex web of Aizen no Sōsuke's treason when Kisuke is made aware of another layer to the conspiracy, one that threatens to expose all the secrets he has not yet decided if he will share with Ichigo-no-mikoto.Few enough people are willing to acceptonmyōji, but even fewer will be willing to accept that their lover is not even human.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As per before:  
\- Kisuke is modelled loosely after Abe no Seimei as depicted in the _Onmyōji_ movies, as originally written by Yumemakura Baku  
\- Ichigo is even more loosely based on Minamoto no Hiromasa  
\- Ichigo uses the royal ‘we’  
\- Mikado = Emperor of Japan specifically; -no-mikoto is the honorific  
\- Onmyōji = The equivalent of a warrior-priest
> 
> I probably conjugated something wrong but the title means "The Spurning of the Moon". All the fics in this series are named after Benihime's special abilities.
> 
> The second scene in this chapter is rated Explicit; the rest of the story will be rated Teen, although there will be another Explicit outtake posted after the end of this fic.

“This one should take his leave.”

It’s not that Kisuke is insecure, nor does he have anything against his new lodgings. As promised, Ichigo-no-mikoto had cleaned the Kōryōden up for Kisuke’s use, but otherwise left this palace free of human servants so that Kisuke can staff the place with his own shikigami.

The furnishings in the Kōryōden are stately rather than opulent, lending an air of subdued elegance to his surroundings. Kisuke has only been here for three days, but he has already grown fond of this palace.

Which is the problem.

As per the previous few times he’s said that, though, Ichigo-no-mikoto catches his forearm. His grip is gentle, hardly a true deterrent for Kisuke, but he finds that he is loathe to leave. “It has scarcely been three days since you moved in,” Ichigo-no-mikoto points out. “Surely your shikigami can handle the housekeeping for longer, even without your presence?”

A shadow of a frown finds its way onto his face. “Or…” Ichigo-no-mikoto hesitates, “have we offended you in some way?”

“No!” Kisuke exclaims, too shocked by the suggestion to maintain his usual composure. How can Ichigo-no-mikoto even _think_ – “Mikado-sama –”

“_I-chi-go_,” stresses Ichigo-no-mikoto, all traces of apprehension wiped away by his trademark scowl. “Surely Kisuke-dono will acquiesce to dropping formalities when we are in your private residence?”

Kisuke smiles awkwardly. Ichigo-no-mikoto has been diligent in his reminders every time Kisuke slips up, not giving Kisuke a single chance to pretend he’s forgotten. At this rate, Kisuke’s really going to start thinking of him as _Ichigo_ instead of _mikado-sama_.

At this rate, he’s going to become unavoidably _attached_.

None of these are within his calculations. When Kisuke first came to the court, he had originally planned to set up his household beyond the Ichijo Midori Bridge, on the very edge of the city where his back wall borders the untamed wilderness. The human city known as _Heian-Kyō_ had stood and flourished in his territory for several centuries, long enough that even an immortal creature like him felt curious enough to check it out.

But Ichigo-no-mikoto, as Kisuke has rapidly come to realise, is an unpredictable force of nature.

* * *

The next day dawns, and with it the knowledge that he must now face the music.

“You should show your face at court today,” Ichigo-no-mikoto murmurs into his bare shoulder, rolling his hips lazily.

Kisuke huffs out an incredulous breath, but the way he arches into Ichigo-no-mikoto’s touch doesn’t quite help to affirm his stance. Why else would he be trying so hard to leave the night before?

“It would be good for the Chief Onmyōji to make an appearance once in a while,” Ichigo-no-mikoto continues, the conversational tone of his voice at complete odds with the way he’s now driving deep inside Kisuke’s body, like he’s taking his pleasure from what belongs to him by due right, and Kisuke almost forgets to object.

“Make – someone else, the Chief Onmōji,” Kisuke finally manages to gasp out, although the protest is somewhat ruined by his breathless tone.

Ichigo-no-mikoto _stops_.

Kisuke can’t help the startled _whine_ it drags out of him, pounding a fist on the floor so that he doesn’t just impulsively thrust backwards. He can feel Ichigo-no-mikoto’s smirk against the curve of his collarbone, and he’s just about to object to the choice of bedroom conversation when Ichigo-no-mikoto sits up carelessly, one hand pressed against Kisuke’s belly such that Kisuke is too hauled up to sit in his lap with the cock still buried inside him.

“Oh?” Ichigo-no-mikoto asks mildly. “And pray tell, who else in this court can I trust?”

Kisuke is sure his face must be a deep crimson. In the sudden flurry of movements, he has instinctively grabbed a hold of Ichigo-no-mikoto’s thigh, forced to sprawl backwards against Ichigo-no-mikoto’s chest, his legs falling open.

“Hm?” Ichigo-no-mikoto asks, hooking his chin over Kisuke’s shoulder like he’s – like he’s admiring how shamelessly hard Kisuke is for him, precome beading at the tip of his cock.

They’ve been having sex for the past few seasons, but everything is different now.

The sun has risen, but Ichigo-no-mikoto has not left; by Heian-Kyō customs, this can no longer be considered a casual dalliance. Not that Kisuke has expected it to remain a dalliance, given that he now resides within a palace designated for a favoured consort, but still.

To do it… in the light of day?

For the past three nights, Ichigo-no-mikoto has obeyed the customs of propriety. He has arrived after dark, when Kisuke has already prepared himself, and pressed Kisuke’s willing body down into the futon. On one occasion, he has even taken Kisuke’s cock in hand, stroking him to climax before spending himself.

But now…

Kisuke’s eyes drop involuntarily to his lap, where his cock is straining for attention, curving gently towards his abdomen. The morning light is filtering in through the windows, and with how his legs are spread obscenely open, there is no room to hide his shame.

He swallows.

“Kisuke,” Ichigo-no-mikoto breathes against his ear, “let me watch you.”

Before Kisuke can ask for clarification, Ichigo-no-mikoto has taken Kisuke’s free hand and guided it between his own legs. Kisuke startles, trying to pull his hand away, but Ichigo-no-mikoto’s grip is like a vice, insistently folding Kisuke’s fingers one by one to wrap around his erection.

“You love having my cock inside you, don’t you?” he coaxes. “Show me how much you want it.”

His cheeks must be burning. Kisuke is not new to the activities of the bedroom, but none of his previous lovers have _dared_ –

Hands clasp around his hips in a firm grip as Ichigo-no-mikoto begins to move, rocking his hips slowly at first, and then picking up the pace.

Kisuke chokes out a low moan, his back arching embarrassingly to keep his balance. It’s… it’s true. He likes it – he _loves_ it –

His hand, hesitantly, begins to move.

* * *

It’s centuries of experience that lets Kisuke maintain his composure when the first tingles of a foreign power laps at the edges of his senses, pulling away like a receding tide the moment he becomes aware of it. He keeps his steps even, his head held high, ignoring the flurry of murmurs that break out amongst the court officials when he proceeds to the position normally occupied by the Chief Onmyōji.

Kisuke settles into seiza on his cushion on autopilot and busies himself with arranging his court robes across the floor, thankful that Ichigo-no-mikoto hasn’t paid more than cursory attention to him. The source of that power… it’s strong enough that the trespasser cannot be excused with the ignorance of youth, yet weak enough that it cannot possibly be a challenger for his territory.

The supernatural world is well-aware that Heian-Kyō has been Kisuke’s territory for more than a thousand years, and yet here is a trespasser who has neither sent notice of his intention, nor paid Kisuke a courtesy visit since his arrival.

Kisuke breathes in the scent of incense and wildflowers, holds his breath for a four-count, and then exhales. He turns his head a precise number of degrees, his nose twitching slightly, and then looks up.

The offender cannot be more than seven centuries old, just another face barely visible in a group of ministers. From the Ministry of Rites and Customs, judging by the cut of their court robes. How… surprising. Even Kisuke would not dare to claim he is an expert on human rituals and customs; despite his age, he has rarely interacted with the humans in his territory before this.

The offender’s ears flatten against his skull as though chastised, his powers drawn around his human form like a cloak. His eyes flick up to meet Kisuke’s, and then drops in vague apology to the floor he’s kneeling on.

Kisuke’s eyes narrow, his pupils turning into slits.

Hm. He wouldn’t confess it to Ichigo-no-mikoto, but it’s a good thing he came to court today.

* * *

There’s an exceptionally large crowd of ministers waiting for their turn to speak to Ichigo-no-mikoto today, Kisuke notes. In the hubbub of activity all across the courtyard, no one notices him spearing the offender with a hard look, tilting his head in a clear expectation to _follow, or else_.

Kisuke lingers at the edges of the crowd, waiting until he can catch Ichigo-no-mikoto’s distracted gaze to indicate he will be taking his leave. He does not bother to keep track of the trespasser; if he attempts to escape from Kisuke’s grasp, his punishment will only be more severe.

Tessai is already waiting outside the court gates with the carriage when Kisuke finally makes his way out of the court. Although he does not speak, he glances briefly behind Kisuke, as though assessing the threat.

Scarcely has he set foot in his own courtyard do the wards over the Ichijo Midori Bridge trill with silent warning. Kisuke ignores the intrusion, busying himself with setting up the tea set, arranging the little confectionaries that Tessai brings out to his satisfaction.

“Tea?” he asks conversationally, and then pours a cup without waiting for an answer. He pours another cup for himself, takes a deliberate sip, and then sets it down on the veranda with a soft ‘chink’.

Like a stone thrown into a still pond, a wave of power ripples outwards, a lattice of activated wards lighting up his entire estate. At the same time Kisuke shrugs his glamour off like a well-worn cloak and draws himself up to his full height, nine tails fanned out behind him.

“Explain yourself.”

The younger fox hesitates another moment, but to hold his glamour any longer is an indication of mistrust he cannot afford. He bows his head, letting his own glamour fall.

It’s just as Kisuke thought: he has six tails.

“This one is named Ichimaru no Gin,” the younger fox begins, his entire body in a study of stillness that betrays his trepidation. “Apologies for intruding into Urahara-sama’s territory, but this one truly has no other choice.”

Kisuke picks his cup up and takes another sip of tea.

Ichimaru’s gaze flickers to his face, and he continues without prompting. “This one is hunting a human who has stolen something that does not rightfully belong to him.”

Kitsune play tricks on unsuspecting passers-by as their fancy strikes; this inclination to tease is in their blood. “To play a game means to be willingly bound by the rules even if you lose,” Kisuke points out. He has seen his fair share of young kitsune who, consumed by inexperience and the thoughtless arrogance of youth, end up designing games with fatal loopholes. Upon losing, they are unable to suffer the indignity of defeat, becoming obsessed with thoughts of hatred and vengeance, until they invariably end up turning into _nogitsune_.

A fate worse than death: never to achieve another tail, cursed to forever languish in the darkness of their own hearts until their souls may be exorcised.

It’s not a concept that should be new to a six-tailed kitsune, however.

“It was not a game, it _could not_ have been.” Ichimaru’s tails lash once in annoyance, before he manages to get himself under control again. “She may be playful, but I refuse to believe – what kitsune will put their own _hoshi no tama_ up for wager?”

Kisuke’s hands, in the middle of pouring himself more tea, freeze in mid-air.

Slowly, he sets the teapot down before he drops it.

A _hoshi no tama_… a kitsune’s star ball is the manifestation of their very soul, the aggregation of their powers, compressed into a compact form visible to even a mundane human’s naked eye. Ichimaru is absolutely right – no kitsune will ever have put their own star ball up for wager, no matter the stakes or the circumstances.

Yes, indeed – if a six-tailed is on the hunt for his friend’s star ball, Kisuke can see why he is willing to go to such lengths, to even risk offending a celestial fox. Having never met Kisuke before, Ichimaru could not have been certain if Kisuke would have been willing to lend his aid for such an endeavour; after all, whoever who holds a kitsune’s star ball holds them effectively hostage – human or otherwise.

“What is the name of this human?”

Ichimaru eyes him grimly, his lips pursed, but he spits the words out as though they are poison.

“_Aizen no Sōsuke_.”

Somehow, Kisuke is not surprised.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UraIchi PC4  
Prompt 014: You're something worth believing in.

Ichimaru no Gin finds himself in somewhat of a dilemma.

He has known, of course, the risks of coming to Heian-Kyō. One does not live to six centuries without knowing the laws of the jungle, and creeping unannounced into the stronghold of a celestial fox’s territory is tantamount to suicide.

But Heian-Kyō is where Aizen no Sōsuke has fled, his stolen prize in hand, and there is nothing in this world or the next that Gin would not do for Rangiku.

This includes sitting in the den of a celestial fox, sipping on leaf-juice stewed in boiling water and trying to ignore the way the den-wards scrape across his fur, his head bowed in hope of forgiveness. Every fibre of his being screams in defiance at the show of submission, but Gin simply closes his eyes at the futility of it. The difference between one tail and the next is an entire magnitude of power, to say nothing of three tails. To Urahara, Gin might as well be an insignificant ant, one he can squash at will if he so wishes.

Gin’s only chance lies in the hope that he does not desire thus.

A season at court has not gotten him any closer to Aizen – who is now, yet again, out of his reach – but it did give him an unexpected piece of information. Foxes are known to be masters of seduction, but Gin can honestly say this is the very first time he has heard of one of their kind employing such skills on the human whose territory encompasses_ all of Japan_.

Even now Urahara has not fully shed his veneer of demure fragility; his tails are fanned out behind him, swaying gently in the breeze, but he is garbed in mortal-woven threads and not his own fur, serving a fellow kitsune brewed leaf water rather than the sake their kind favours – although perhaps Gin should count his blessings instead, if this is to be the only sign of Urahara’s displeasure.

“You will show me to your friend.”

It is a knee-jerk reaction for Gin to say no, an instinct he barely suppresses in time. He has known what is coming, what must happen the moment Urahara had made his appearance at court today.

He leaves the mostly-full cup of leaf-juice on the veranda.

* * *

The carriage ride to Gin’s household is spent in silence. There is nothing Gin wants to say to Urahara, nor anything he wants to hear – except whether he is willing to help Gin track down Rangiku’s star ball. This is, after all, the only reason why he is permitting this invasion of their den. He is not so deluded as to think he can actually keep a celestial fox out, of course, but it does not mean he will not die trying.

“Gin!” Rangiku exclaims as he comes through the gate. Urahara turns away politely to issue instructions to the shikigami driving his carriage, allowing Gin the semblance of privacy to greet her. “Oh, you should have said you are bringing a guest home!” She flutters about, her skirts trailing behind her, as she starts listing all the different ways their house is not prepared to receive a visitor.

As a lowly junior minister, Gin’s house is nowhere as impressive as Urahara’s estate. It’s but a few rooms in size, without a garden of its own, although it does abut the garden of a much larger estate. During the flowering seasons, Rangiku will be able to see the blossoms from their own veranda.

Gin sends his own shikigami – a meagre four, he does not have the power Urahara commands – to fetch aburaage-wrapped rice balls and his finest sake, the kind fit for human royalty. He cannot afford to treat Urahara as anything less than a revered guest.

Urahara demurs, like the human he is still pretending to be, like he does not trust Gin’s wards. The insult prickles against Gin’s skin but he desists, just barely. For Rangiku’s sake –

“My lord, ‘tis but poor fare, we can only beg your forgiveness. Please, do enjoy these freshly-plucked persimmons.”

Rangiku. Gin wants to sigh. He _told_ her to stay away, but of course she does not listen. Even stripped of her tails and her Sight, that’s who she is at her core: trying to be helpful, as always. She cannot tell the exact nature of Urahara, of course, but a celestial fox’s power is simply far too vast to be cloaked by mere illusion; even a ripple-blind mundane will be able to sense that Urahara is not someone to be slighted, much less a temporarily denuded seven-tails.

“My gratitude for the –” Urahara begins, turning towards Rangiku, and for the first time Gin sees him struck speechless.

“My lord?” Rangiku prompts after a moment of silence, darting an uncertain glance at Gin.

Urahara says nothing. His gaze is fixed upon Rangiku’s chest, where the soft swell of her breasts is outlined by the drape of her sheer under-robe.

Gin busies himself by pouring out the sake into two cups. He knows what has riveted Urahara’s attention thus; it is not the fact that Rangiku has not yet grasped human notions of layered clothing, nor that she has yet to succumb to the strange human custom of concealing her face from view. No, what Gin always has to steel himself to look at is the gaping wound carved upon her very soul, its edges jagged as though butchered carelessly with a serrated knife, oozing starlight and mercury with every step she takes.

Rangiku’s smile begins to wobble.

“Urahara-dono,” Gin calls, putting barely a hint of a rumble into it. It’s not a warning, not quite, not unless –

With almost-impressive aplomb, Urahara pulls himself together, though his voice is still slightly uneven when he apologises for his conduct, thanks her for the delicacy without commenting on the fact that it is completely out-of-season, and enquires after her health all in the same breath.

Rangiku brightens up immediately, thanking him for his concern. “It is true that this one’s health is poorly, and must be confined to the walls of this household,” she comments, with a light carefree laugh that pains Gin to hear. Rangiku has always been forgiving, yes, but never _flighty_, as though her ability to retain information is also leaking through the cracks in her fractured soul.

“Ichimaru-dono has been greatly concerned for your health,” Urahara explains while nibbling delicately on a piece of aburaage. “As a simple onmyōji of the court, this one has humbly come to offer what services he may.”

It’s not even a lie. Gin inhales sharply, catching the phrasing – does it mean he has decided –

Urahara reaches for a persimmon, tearing into it with a hint of canines too-sharp to laugh off as human. Juice drips from the corner of his lips. Rangiku doesn’t bat an eyelash at the shockingly indecorous, _inhuman_ conduct, her smile just as beautiful and vacant as before.

Like he has seen all that he needs to, Urahara makes short work of the persimmon and wipes his hand on the towel. “May I?” he asks, holding out a hand, palm facing upwards.

Rangiku giggles lightly, darting a glance at Gin. When he makes no move to stop her, she places her own hand atop Urahara’s, as delicate as a petal that comes to rest upon the surface of a still pond.

Urahara grasps her wrist lightly, turning her hand over as though he is going to do a palm-reading. With his free hand he snaps his fan open, sweeping it over her open palm once, twice, thrice. Unlike the human onmyōji whom Gin has encountered, he doesn’t break into a chant, but Gin can feel the waves of power rolling off him with each pass of the fan.

Rangiku looks politely intrigued.

With another pass of the fan, Urahara shuts his eyes, and the waves of power are coming further apart, now, but each wave is strong enough to make Gin’s teeth ache. There’s a shimmer in the air as Urahara’s glamour peels away, leaving all nine tails in full view. It’s said that a celestial fox has the power to move the heavens and the omniscience of a deity, but Gin has always thought they were rumours. He turns automatically to Rangiku, a remark ready on the tip of his tongue –

Rangiku isn’t even looking at him. Whatever Aizen has done to her has also robbed her of her Sight, leaving her oblivious to the byplay, and Gin doesn’t think he can detest Aizen any more than he already does, but a fresh surge of hatred wells up within him, his vision blurring with the intensity –

The fan snaps shut.

Urahara opens his eyes slowly. He shares a look of complete understanding with Gin, before Rangiku interrupts, “So what’s the verdict, Onmyōji-dono?”

“It is an illness best treated with long periods of fresh air,” Urahara replies promptly, knowing that Gin will not argue. “Might I suggest a trip to the old palace of Heijō-kyō? The trade routes are flourishing at this time of the year, and travel is comfortable.”

“Heijō Palace!” Rangiku brightens. “Oh, what a splendid idea!” She claps her hands together, turning to Gin, as though he needs any more convincing. “That would make a grand trip, wouldn’t it?”

Gin barely manages to smile at her and nod in response. The moment Rangiku has vanished to pack for the trip, he rounds on Urahara, who is nibbling on another piece of aburaage. “Aizen is in the old Heijō-kyō palace?” he demands, careful to keep his voice soft.

Urahara nods. He looks pensive. “I will have to put in for a leave of absence from my post, but I do not foresee any issues with the Mikado.”

Gin blinks at the admission, but then he recalls the rumours. “So it is true that Aizen targeted the Mikado’s sister, then?” This Mikado may have been young even for a human, but he loves his sisters like his own kits.

He has not expected to empathise with a human, but when Urahara nods, he can’t help it all the same.


	3. Chapter 3

Kisuke sits in one corner of the carriage as it rattles onwards, his eyes closed to feign sleep. Jinta is up front driving the carriage, Ichimaru’s shikigami sitting beside him. It is a pity he cannot bring Tessai along, but his oldest shikigami is getting on in years and no longer as capable of travel as he once had been. No, it is best if Tessai maintains his residence near Ichijo Midori Bridge, while Ururu tends to the Kōryōden in his absence.

Contrary to what he had told Ichimaru, Ichigo-no-mikoto had been greatly upset by the discovery that Kisuke must travel away for the capital for a period. Kisuke had not realised, although in hindsight he supposes he should have, how the abruptness of this departure can be misinterpreted.

_“Are we – please,” he had begged, grasping Kisuke’s wrist, almost falling to his knees, “tell us what we – what I did wrong –”_

_“N-nothing?” Kisuke had answered, flummoxed. “Mika– Ichigo, what has given you the impression –”_

_Ichigo-no-mikoto had scoffed, looked pained. “Then why is that for the past three days you have lived in the Inner Palace, each evening you have asked to take your leave, and now you come to us with such hasty plans to travel, as though you are fleeing our very presence?” His mouth twists. “Is it the court? Has someone said something to you?”_

_Left with no recourse, Kisuke had to explain that he had found a lead to Aizen’s whereabouts, upon which Ichigo-no-mikoto became upset for a totally different reason._

_“Be careful,” he finally said, pressing an amulet of protection into Kisuke’s hands. It hummed with power that tasted like Ichigo-no-mikoto’s, suggesting that it was an heirloom inherited from his mother._

Kisuke shifts slightly, trying to get himself into a more comfortable position. The _other_ parting gift Ichigo had left him with is… insistent memorable, indeed. _And_ kept him awake for half the night.

Rangiku’s chatter makes it nearly impossible to fall asleep, but he finds that he cannot muster up the energy to mind, not when – Kisuke has seen many things in the millennium he has been alive, but he does not know how Ichimaru can bear to look at her, at the way her soul oozes like mercury through the cracks of an uncauterised wound.

The inn they stop at for the night is entirely in deference to her needs as well. Kisuke may have become accustomed to a certain quality of life, but two nights away from prying human eyes is a small hardship to bear, given the repercussions should Aizen succeed in binding Rangiku’s _hoshi no tama_ to him.

He flops ungainly onto the tatami mat, resisting the urge to manifest his tails just to have something softer than this poor excuse of a futon to curl up on. Life in the capital has really spoiled him. Perhaps it is a sign to move on –

No. He’ll think about that later, after the current crisis is over. As self-centred as Kisuke can be, he does not think his personal life is more important than a madman with the power to destroy entire territories.

The next morning dawns, dreary and overcast, although it doesn’t seem to have affected Rangiku’s mood any. She nibbles on her onigiri, her head sticking out of the carriage window like a particular species of domesticated canine as she chatters on to a long-suffering Ichimaru.

At least Kisuke does not have to deal with that.

He has his eyes closed again, feigning sleep like the previous day, although this time he sends his consciousness ahead to check that Aizen has not moved in the interim. Unlike what popular culture erroneously implies, a celestial fox is not actually _omniscient_, it’s just that his awareness is not confined to the boundaries of his earth-bound shell. His senses will, of course, follow his awareness. Immortal or not, even he will go mad if he can sense everything between them and what lies a two-day journey ahead.

Even before he enters Heijō-kyō proper, he can sense the roiling miasma of that same energy he encountered during the battle for Karin-hime’s body, the tainted power he has come to recognise as Aizen’s. Kisuke slows down his approach, skirting around the edges of the abandoned palace ruins. The outskirts of the former capital is dotted with Buddhist temples, patches of consecrated ground he has to weave through carefully, lest the protective realms confuse him for a malicious spirit. It is not that they can do him true harm, but Aizen would definitely be forewarned of an intruder in that case.

The Hōryūji Temple, one of the oldest Buddhist temples around, has far more discerning wards that can actually differentiate a _kitsune_ from a _nogitsune_. He can sense several apprentice warrior-monks in residence, but the master appears to be in seclusion or away travelling, which makes them no threat to him. Kisuke leaps onto the roof top, perches delicately on a spire like a bird of prey, and extends his senses again.

To his third eye, the miasma blots out the sun, and it is difficult to pinpoint Aizen’s exact location. He must be setting up an array of some kind. The… audience hall, perhaps? Flowing water disrupts most formations, so he cannot be near the palace gardens.

Idly, Kisuke wonders where the master warrior-monk has gone. There is no way a master of his craft will have failed to notice the corruption seeping through his city, which means that the master has not been around since before Aizen started work. Perhaps Aizen had him killed off –

The carriage jolts suddenly, sending his body crashing headfirst into the wooden panels.

Kisuke gasps for air, completely disorientated, trying to assimilate two sets of sensations at once. He’s back in his body, a serious crash would do that, but Aizen is still two days away and regular bandits are no match for Jinta or failing which, Ichimaru –

Jinta. Any active shikigami is a constant if barely perceptible drain on his power, but now he can’t sense Jinta. Which means… whatever that had hit the carriage had taken out his shikigami in one hit? Jinta may be one of his youngest, but he’s still nearly three centuries old –

The carriage shudders again, accompanied by terrified high-pitched whines that indicate Rangiku is still somewhere in there with him. Kisuke flails a limb, tries to remember how to work hands and feet instead of paws, and for the first time he curses the sturdy construction of his carriage. It would be helpful to have some light right about now –

A fistful of foxfire blooms in his palm just as the carriage shudders and then _crumples_ as though squashed between two giant palms – which is exactly what happened, he notes, tumbling out in an ungraceful heap.

The second thing he notes is… well, now he knows where the master warrior-monk has gone.

“Lucky!” the warrior-monk exclaims. Kisuke struggles to push himself up to his feet, almost tripping over one of his tails – he doesn’t remember manifesting them?! – while the warrior-monk dances from side to side, waving his staff over his head. He ends with his staff held horizontally in both hands, palms facing Kisuke like an invisible push, and Kisuke feels the tattered remnants of his glamour shred like wet paper under the force.

“Greetings, Master Traveller.” He errs on the side of politeness. These are not good chances; Ichimaru is unconscious, Rangiku terrified and currently mortal, and Kisuke himself is still recovering from being thrown so abruptly back into his body. For the master warrior-monk to lay in wait here, he must have set up an ambush. “May this one enquire as to the reason behind the violent nature of this welcome?”

The master warrior-monk props his staff on the ground. “This humble monk was warned by a man with some limited talent in the Sight that he is fleeing the pursuit of some _yako_,” he says, using the slur for a corrupted kitsune, “and also that the capital of Heian-kyō is in grave danger, with the Mikado bewitched by a very powerful kitsune. This humble one sees that both these warnings have been truths.”

A man with some limited talent –

“The man you speak of only seeks to mislead you from a far graver danger.” He doubts his words will prompt a sudden change of heart, but he has to try. “He travels from Naniwa after appropriating a _zenko_’s _hoshi no tama_ for his own nefarious purposes, and now flees from Heian-kyō because he was found attempting to possess the sister of the Mikado.”

The words grate. Rangiku hardly resembles a benevolent fox spirit now, more like a _nogitsune _in the earliest stages of transformation, but Kisuke hopes that the master warrior-monk will at least be willing to hear a celestial fox out.

He is not that lucky.

“That man is far too weak for someone in possession of a kitsune’s star ball,” the master rebuts, slamming the butt of his staff on the ground. Sealing realms spring up around the three of them – Rangiku, who has quietened down to the occasional whimper; Ichimaru, beginning to stir but still down for the count; and Kisuke, too disorientated to even walk. “Be that it may, let it not be said that Hōryūji Temple is undiscerning. If he does mean harm to the people of this realm, this humble monk will see to it that his plans do not come to fruition.”

Kisuke shakes his head, seized by a sudden urge to make him _understand_. “You must not underestimate him,” he insists, “this one too had thought his power unremarkable, but this one had fought him for control over the body of the Mikado’s sister, and had barely won.”

“And you claim that you do not have the Mikado ensorcelled?” the master warrior-monk squints dubiously. “When he gives you leave to sit with his unmarried sister?”

Frustrated, Kisuke draws back his lip over his fangs in a snarl. Words are not getting through, as usual – no matter his physical condition, he will have to do this the hard way. He falls into a crouch, closing his eyes to stop the disorientation, and calls upon his power.

Something is wrong. It’s like trying to wade through tar, his power sputtering out like a dying flame before it reaches his fingertips.

“That will not work.” The master warrior-monk thumps his staff on the ground again, and it’s like a physical blow – Kisuke barely manages to stay in that crouch, instead of falling onto his butt or his knees. Neither of those is a concession his pride is willing to make to this _human_. “There is a kitsune-subduing formation worked into the ground; it will contain even a celestial fox.”

Kisuke beats a fist against the air in sheer frustration, watching the barrier realm light up under his assault. It is as the master warrior-monk has said; the sigils are designed to hold a being of immense power, and there is no way out from the inside. Once the sealing ceremony begins…

Ignoring all his efforts at breaking free, the master warrior-monk begins chanting.

Kisuke _snarls_, dropping his head. It may be impossible, but by the heavens he is going to _try_ –

“We – _I_ – suggest you stop right there.”

Kisuke’s eyes fly open.

No, his ears do not deceive him, that is indeed Ichigo-no-mikoto standing to the right. His face is grim, and there’s a bow – a crossbow in his right hand, loaded and pointing at the master warrior-monk. His left hand, empty for now, is curled into a fist at his side.

He blinks. What – _how_ –

The master warrior-monk, although he wasn’t precisely grinning earlier, is now completely sombre. “This humble monk is known as Madarame no Ikkaku, the Head Monk of Hōryūji Temple.” He bows formally. “It is an honour to make the acquaintance of –”

“Kurosaki no Ichigo,” Ichigo-no-mikoto says brusquely, without waiting for Madarame to finish his courtesy greeting. “Head Priest of Ise Grand Shrine.”

It’s an interesting way of framing it. Kisuke would not have expected that to be the title Ichigo-no-mikoto chooses to give, but he supposes it is a less-blunt way of saying “reigning Mikado”. Perhaps, to illustrate the fact that he too possesses an open Third Eye…?

Madarame pauses, longer than is strictly polite, before he dips his head in a much more ceremonial bow. “Mikado-sama.” His gaze slides past Ichigo-no-mikoto, landing on Kisuke. The accusation in it is nearly tangible, but Kisuke does not know how to defend himself. Even he does not know how Ichigo-no-mikoto has managed to arrive in the nick of time, given that he is dressed simply in a hunting costume with no carriage nor horse in sight.

“If this humble monk may enquire, how was Mikado-sama able to ascertain these kitsune are in need of assistance?” It’s a delicate way of asking whether Ichigo-no-mikoto has been enthralled, although Ichigo-no-mikoto seems to take offence nonetheless.

Kisuke knows the answer to _this_ question, but he’s still not prepared when Ichigo-no-mikoto reaches up with his free hand, gently tugging something out from beneath his many collars.

Madarame’s staff falls from his hands with a clatter.

Forgetting that he is feigning unconsciousness, Ichimaru goes into a loud and shocked coughing fit.

Rangiku claps her hands. “Oooh, how pretty!”

Ichigo-no-mikoto lets go of the chain, letting the star ball – _Kisuke’s_ star ball – hang delicately like a pendant against his hunting costume. The crossbow in his other hand is as steady as ever, pointed at Madarame.

“Why don’t you take the sealing realms down,” he says, an order rather than a question, “and then we can talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I haven't done cliffhangers for far too long woop~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Valentine's Day...

“Your Highness, this humble personage cannot –”

“It’s just a Ten-Realm Divine Essence-Binding Formation,” Ichigo snaps, without bothering to give the barrier another glance. “If you can’t take it down, _I_ will.”

It’s oddly freeing to be able to speak plainly, without the royal accoutrements in the way, without the pomp and the circumstance hindering his every act. It reminds him of the life he could have had, the life he was _meant_ to have.

If life had worked out the way it was supposed to, Ichigo would never have needed to ascend the Chrysanthemum Throne. He is a prince, yes, but as the firstborn son of the last pureblood Kurosaki and the Son of Heaven, Ichigo has always been meant to be the Head Priest of Ise Grand Shrine, the shrine dedicated to Amaterasu herself.

Anyone with the Sight can tell: with each passing season, darkness encroaches further upon Heian-kyō. Ichigo has been the Mikado for less than a decade, and already he has had to repel more attacks on the capital than past emperors have had to deal with in their entire tenure. The protective realms of Ise Grand Shrine are failing; there has been no one sufficiently powerful to anchor the wards for hundreds of years, and the effects are showing.

It is for that sole reason Kurosaki no Masaki, one of the only Quincies – better known in some circles as the sole descendants of Tsukuyomi – still alive, left seclusion to marry the Son of Heaven – the only descendant of Amaterasu. Two children, she had agreed. One to protect Japan, and one to rule it.

Ichi-go. One who protects.

His mother had been overjoyed when she bore twins, one with the Sight and one without. Ichigo, if he is to perform his duties, cannot stay in or even near Heian-kyō and is thus unable to react to immediate danger – which is where Karin comes in. Is supposed to come in. _Will_ come in, once she and Yuzu are fully-trained and ready to take on their respective responsibilities.

Ichigo may find life at court tedious, but he refuses to abdicate before his sisters are as prepared as they can ever be. He is not his father.

He cracks his neck with a sigh. The Head Monk – Ikkaku, is it? – is taking too long. Well, Ichigo _had_ warned him. Stretching his free hand out behind him, he makes a gripping motion, and then _twists_.

The thing about the Ten-Realm Divine Essence-Binding Formation is that it is _very_ good at keeping something powerful inside, but nowhere near as good at keeping something _out_.

With a near-audible _pop_, the realm dissolves.

Ikkaku’s mouth drops open. “You’re a _Quincy_?” he demands.

Ichigo eyes him suspiciously, but Ikkaku’s staff is still on the ground and his hands are far apart enough that Ichigo can shoot him before he can form a seal. “Yes?”

The last thing he expects is for Ikkaku to drop to his knees. “Quincy-sama, please forgive the impudence of this typhlotic one.” Softer, like he is speaking to himself, he murmurs, “So a child survived that night – thank the heavens for this blessing.”

Ichigo blinks. Ikkaku is referring to the Night of the Demon Parade, of course, but his demeanour – “Is the situation outside the capital in such dire straits?”

His head still lowered, Ikkaku nods solemnly. “The Protective Realms of the Grand Ise are all but faded; demons carouse with impunity across the lands, and none but the major workings can bar them entry.”

The… his mother has said the situation is rapidly deteriorating, but Ichigo has not left the capital for over a decade, and news of this kind almost never filters in from outside the capital.

“It is our intention to take up our post at Ise Grand Shrine before the next Rebuilding,” Ichigo replies, wincing a little when he realises he has slipped into courtly speech again. He is going to have to double-down on Karin’s training to make it in time, it seems. Mayhap Kisuke can help –

The star ball around his neck turns warm enough that he can feel it even through all the layers that comprise his hunting costume, as though it can sense he is thinking about its owner.

He’s… almost forgotten that they have an audience.

With another twist of his wrist, Ichigo yanks apart the Ten-Realm Divine Essence-Binding Formation keeping Kisuke’s travelling companions pinned down, watching the younger kitsune make a beeline for the… great heavens, what is _that_, that – is it, she, still alive?

Ichigo turns away from that reunion, but that too proves to be a mistake when it brings into view the person he has desperately been trying to avoid looking in the face since his arrival. He clears his throat, lowering his crossbow. “Kisuke,” he greets, and then just says the first thing on his mind, “are you well?”

It’s a stupid question to ask. Kisuke’s glamour is still non-functional, his ears stiff above his head and tails splaying across the ground. Ichigo doesn’t know enough of vulpine body language to tell how Kisuke is feeling about this sudden turn of events.

“Mikado-sama,” Kisuke returns evenly, dipping his head. None of his… less-human characteristics twitch.

The star ball pulses gently in the hollow of Ichigo’s throat.

Kisuke’s eyes dart to the glowing gem when Ichigo makes an aborted motion to touch it, but his gaze is unreadable when he meets Ichigo’s eyes again, as though they are strangers.

Ichigo swallows.

“Do you – would you like it back?”

It’s a stupid question to ask, but Kisuke doesn’t smile, or shout, or do anything Ichigo would expect from a man – no, an individual – in his position. He lifts one lightly-furred arm as though he’s about to accept the offer, hesitates, and then lets it drop. Making no attempt to meet Ichigo’s eyes again, he turns away.

“Keep it.”

Ichigo’s mouth drops open. He is not the only one; Ikkaku and the silver-furred kitsune both look hilariously flummoxed, although Ichigo thinks his own expression can’t be any better.

“And stop showing it around,” Kisuke gripes without turning around, the rare trace of frustration in his voice giving Ichigo pause. “The _point_ of a secret is that nobody knows about it.”

Chastised, Ichigo slips the star ball back beneath his collars. It’s still pulsing warmly against his skin, but there’s no hint of the _urgency_ and _fear_ that had driven Ichigo to rip a portal open earlier, his heart hammering in his throat. It shouldn’t even have worked – Ichigo has never managed a long-distance portal before, much less one to a location he doesn’t know – but it was as if the star ball was amplifying his strength somehow.

He can see, now, why Kisuke gave his own star ball to Ichigo for safekeeping, dressed up as a mere ornamental token.

If Aizen got his hands on the star ball of a _celestial fox_… he can raze Heian-Kyō to the ground with barely a thought.

“This poor monk will use a transfer array to send all of us to Hōryūji, if it is amenable to everyone,” Ikkaku says. He nods apologetically at Kisuke’s carriage, lying at the side of the road and crushed beyond repair. “The temple will, of course, be honoured to welcome such esteemed guests for as long as the investigation may be necessary.”

Ikkaku first looks at Ichigo, but it’s not like Ichigo has any plan in mind or what the best course of action may be, so he tips his chin at Kisuke instead. The younger kitsune looks mistrustful, but he tucks his fox attributes behind a glamour and too glances over at Kisuke.

“Then we will be in your care, Master Madarame.” Kisuke bows.

* * *

The moment they land in the courtyard of Hōryūji Temple, Ikkaku’s nostrils flare, his knuckles white upon his staff. “Please excuse this one,” he says stiffly, through gritted teeth, and then hurries off.

Ichigo grimaces, but he can hardly blame the master warrior-monk. The oily miasma roiling in the northeast sets him on edge, and he knows without asking that _that_ must be Aizen’s doing. To have something like this so close to his territory…

Several monk-initiates come up to them, skittish but not fearful, offering them rooms to refresh themselves and rest after their journey before the evening meal is served. Ichigo can feel the wards flaring, here and there, and assumes Ikkaku is far too busy shoring up the defences for his temple to tend to them for the moment.

After a brief discussion with the younger kitsune and the… whatever _she_ is, Kisuke indicates to the monk-initiates to lead the way. He falls into step beside Ichigo, and though they do not speak, the silence is more poignant than awkward.

In deference to their status as esteemed guests, they are shown to two private rooms instead of the communal areas most of the order bunks down in. Without discussion, the younger kitsune steers his female companion into one of the rooms, leaving Kisuke and Ichigo to stare faintly awkwardly at the door to their own shared room.

There’s nothing for it; Ichigo reaches for the door – and his fingers bump against Kisuke’s hand. It spasms under his touch, but Kisuke doesn’t bat him away.

His shoulders drop, and he sighs. In a tone Ichigo has never heard from him before, he says, “We need to talk.”

Ichigo thought he knows the kind of person Kisuke is, but it’s not until now that he realises how much of the individual he’s acquainted with is just a mask. “Yes.”

The door slides shut behind them. Kisuke drops his bag by the wall, and turns around.

Ichigo takes a step back reflexively. Kisuke is hardly going to hurt him, the star ball around his neck is testament to that, but the oppressive aura suddenly blanketing over the room like a thousand sharp knives still makes his combat-trained instincts go haywire.

“When did you find out?”

Honesty is the only policy possible. Ichigo swallows. “Since the first time I shared your bed.” The star ball pulses against his sternum, like it’s responding to the power in the air, but it feels oddly _soothing_. “I didn’t know how many tails you had, but you didn’t seem to wish harm upon anyone, so I made no mention of it.”

Only someone completely blind to mystical undercurrents can miss the ethereal glow that seems to surround Kisuke, or write off the ease with which he calls upon shikigami more complex than Ichigo has seen any human practitioner manage to summon.

Ichigo had spotted him the moment he arrived in court, but as the seasons passed and Kisuke has done naught but aid the court in his capacity as a court-appointed onmyōji, it piqued his _interest_.

“I was never meant to be the emperor.” Ichigo sits down on the tatami mats, his hand coming up to clutch at the star ball. “My mother – my parents eventually fell in love, but it started off as a political match. Ise Grand Shrine’s wards are failing, the divine bloodline of Amaterasu has become too dilute to power them. Over the centuries, the remaining Quincies had built a powerful shadow realm that was impenetrable to demons, but my mother disagreed with that isolationist policy. She believed that since she was born with the power to do something about it, she should. So she left their spiritual realm and travelled across the demon-infested lands, until she reached Heian-kyō.”

“She sounds like a remarkable woman.”

Ichigo nods jerkily. “She was.”

He was tutored in the basics of management and politics, but Ichigo’s education had only ever been the basics of what any imperial child should know. After his mother’s demise, it all changed. With the way his father began distancing himself from court, it was obvious Isshin wasn’t planning to last until Yuzu can ascend the Throne. Ichigo was going to have to do it himself, which meant cram courses from dawn to dusk until he can be slapped on the situation like a hastily-repurposed talisman.

He was crowned the day after he came of age.

“Then you came into my life.” Ichigo waves a hand, because he has no idea how to encapsulate all… _this_. “We were – _I was_ – never certain of the depth of your commitment.” Seeing Kisuke open his mouth, Ichigo shakes his head. “I believe you were sincere in your affections, but you never looked like you were planning to stay.”

Kisuke closes his mouth again. He looks faintly conflicted, and also vaguely apologetic. “It was not my intention to mislead –”

“I know,” Ichigo interrupts. “But then you gave me your star ball and said you were going after Aizen – pretending it was just a sentimental token that you’ll come back for, instead of what it actually is – I almost told you that I know. And I was going to, but I didn’t want to distract you from the upcoming fight, so I promised myself to tell you when you came back instead.”

He fingers the star ball through the layers of cloth. “But then your star ball started heating up, and I could sense, somehow, that you were in danger. I couldn’t sit by idly knowing that you were in trouble, even if it means you feel like you can’t trust me anymore after this.”

Kisuke is silent for a long moment. “This does solve a few of my dilemmas,” he eventually says, dropping the formal speech he has always adopted around Ichigo for something far more plain. “I had been considering if I should broach the subject with you, if we are to… carry on, as we do. To know that you already know and understand the implications – it relieves me. And it does answer my other question.” He slides fluidly into seiza, legs folded underneath himself. “You were – not incorrect in your assumption that I intended my presence in Heian-kyō to be temporary. My territory is vast, and permanent residency in a human court does not lend itself well to supervision over its borders. But now, knowing what I do now… you are intending to take up your post at Ise Grand Shrine?”

Ichigo nods. “I will have to wait until Karin and Yuzu are ready for their posts, and then spend several seasons resident in Ise Grand Shrine until the arrays are fully charged. But after that, the maintenance of the wards does not necessitate my physical presence. I had always planned to travel across the lands, seeking out places that need my aid.” He falters, thinking about the overall picture. “Of course, the initial set-up will likely take a great many years, so if it’s too much for you…”

Kisuke _laughs_, belatedly raising a sleeve to shield his mouth.

“_Ichigo_,” he says warmly, “perhaps you were too busy to count all my tails just now, but let me assure you, any period of time that can be measured in a fraction of a mortal’s lifespan is hardly too long for me.”

“Oh,” Ichigo says dumbly, before the full implication of that sentence strikes him. “Wait, does that mean –”

Kisuke is definitely laughing at him from behind his sleeve. “_Yes_, Ichigo. I will stay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aizen does not have a very good day.

Kisuke sits back on his haunches, contemplative.

He will admit, in the sanctity of his own mind, that this had not been within his expectations when he first begun this… _dalliance_, for lack of a better word. He had only come to the human capital to satisfy his own curiosity, after all. Even catching the eye of the emperor didn’t amount to much; a Mikado’s favour is known to wax and wane, as ephemeral as the phases of the moon, and Kisuke certainly cannot bear him any heirs.

Ichigo, he’s starting to realise, is always going to be extraordinarily unpredictable.

“May I –” Ichigo clears his throat. He looks away from Kisuke, a blush dusted over his cheeks. “Uh. May I, that is to say, if it does not offend Your Grace, and of course there is no obligation to –” his cheeks are steadily getting redder as the stream of words out of his mouth becomes steadily more incomprehensible “– may I touch them?”

Kisuke blinks.

Ichigo ducks his head in embarrassment and stares determinedly at the floor.

He means…

It’s a completely out of the blue request; it’s _unbelievable_. And yet, Kisuke can sense nothing but sincerity from Ichigo, his aura shining like the purest jade.

He makes his decision. It’s unusual, yes, but Ichigo means no insult. With a flick of his fan, Kisuke throws up a quick protective realm that will prevent trespassers and lets his glamour fall.

Ichigo’s eyes go _wide_.

Kisuke turns his head to look as well, but he doesn’t know what has captivated Ichigo thus. Surely Ichigo has seen a fox before; even Kisuke has seen coats of fox-fur being bandied about as fashion statements in court, so it can hardly be an exotic sight.

His ears twitch atop his head, and he lets his tails droop to rest gently on the tatami mats.

“You’re a _hany__ō_,” Ichigo breathes.

Well, there is certainly no hiding that aspect of himself. A pure-blooded kitsune’s true form will be more fox than human, so the very fact that Kisuke remains largely humanoid except the addition of fox tails is already indicative of his mixed-blood status. He inclines his head.

“Has your fur always been this shade of pale gold?”

Kisuke shakes his head. “A kitsune’s fur only changes to this colour upon ascension into a celestial fox,” he explains.

Ichigo nods and rises onto his knees. Instead of getting up, he crawls forwards, until he can trail the tips of his fingers across one bushy tail. “Oh!” he remarks, sounding uncharacteristically surprised. “It’s so soft!”

It’s a strange remark – what else did Ichigo expect from _fur_? – but Kisuke lets it go when Ichigo continues – there’s no other word for it – _petting_ his tails, running his fingers through the smooth fur and stroking the coils of muscle that comprise the core of Kisuke’s tails.

Kisuke shivers. Unbidden, his mother’s words when he left the nest those centuries ago come to mind – _a kitsune’s tails are the manifestation of their power, just as sacred as their star ball, for to lose a tail sets back their cultivation by a hundred years._

But Ichigo is already wearing his star ball around his neck. After that, baring the rest of his soul to Ichigo may as well be a formality.

He twitches a tail against Ichigo’s nose just to watch Ichigo wrinkle his nose in an attempt to hold back a sneeze. It’s – ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous, acting like he’s a century instead of a millennium old, and yet, and yet.

Once, before he left the nest, he asked his mother why she chose to mate with a human.

Watching Ichigo gradually grow bold enough to bury his fingers into the thick fur coat, Kisuke thinks he understands her choice now.

* * *

The futons have long since been laid out and the candles blown out, but Ichigo is still awake. Kisuke can feel him running his fingers idly over one of his tails, so light that it is barely noticeable.

“Hey, Kisuke?” Ichigo whispers into the dark.

Kisuke glances over, shifting his tails into a more comfortable angle as he does so, but Ichigo isn’t looking at him. “Hmm?”

“Do you – may I make another selfish request?” The pause is shorter this time, like Ichigo knows Kisuke isn’t going to like what he says next. “I want to be there when you go after Aizen.”

It’s on the tip of Kisuke’s tongue to turn him down, but he swallows the words. If Ichigo comes along, all of Kisuke’s careful preparations, the safekeeping of his star ball, would have been for naught – but if Ichigo stays behind, they lose a valuable powerful ally. Nine-tailed or not, Kisuke is not so conceited as to trust blindly in his own superiority.

Ichigo’s fists clench in Kisuke’s fur.

“He killed my mother and grievously injured my sister,” he says quietly. “That makes it _personal_.”

He eases the star ball out from beneath his collars, tapping it against his heart. “I promise, Kisuke. I’ll guard this with my life.”

In the darkness of the room, Kisuke’s eyes flash like the strike of a lightning bolt.

Ichigo does not flinch. He winds his fingers into Kisuke’s fur, eyes wide and painfully earnest, and Kisuke feels the last of his reservations melt away. If he himself cannot decide whether it will be better to have Ichigo together with them or far away from Aizen, then he may as well abide by Ichigo’s wishes on the matter. He sighs, twitching his tails back over his head like a semblance of a blanket.

“Very well.”

He does not even need to look to know Ichigo’s face has brightened at the concession. His bedclothes rustle as he presumably tucks the star ball back beneath his collars, and then rustle again, and rustle some more –

“What are you –” Kisuke begins to ask, flicking his tails out of the way so that he can see Ichigo again.

Ichigo is leaning over him, naked save for the star ball hanging around his neck.

“Please, let me make it up to you.”

“No.”

Disappointment flashes across Ichigo’s face as he sits back on his haunches. “Oh. Of course –”

Kisuke smacks his cheek with a tail before Ichigo can misunderstand him any further. “Ichigo-sama is always so rough,” he explains, a hint of laughter in his voice. “This one needs to be able to move tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Ichigo rocks back on his heels. “Ah, if that is your concern, then…” He shifts his position, and then lowers his head again.

* * *

It is a sombre party that gathers by the side of the road the next morning.

“As discussed, Hōryūji Temple shall maintain a barrier around the old Heijō Palace to keep the engagement contained.” Head Monk Madarame bows, his most accomplished disciples arrayed behind him. If any of them have any objections as to cooperating with kitsune, Kisuke cannot see it in their miens.

“And Mikado-sama?” Head Monk Madarame asks, in a voice pitched too low for a human bystander to hear.

“Mikado-sama is indisposed,” Kisuke returns blandly. He ignores the quick glance Ichimaru shoots him, turning to the road ahead of them to ward off any further conversation.

The closer they get to Heijō Palace, the heavier their bodies feel, like the very air is pressing down upon them. Kisuke spares the struggling Matsumoto a look, and then exchanges a longer one with Ichimaru, to which Ichimaru responds with a tiny sharp shake of his head.

Kisuke can empathise. It’s not safe to leave Matsumoto back at the temple, where any number of Sighted individuals can stumble upon her, but her mutilated soul leaves her with no protection against the malevolent energy this place is steeped in.

“Just a little further, Rangiku,” he can hear Ichimaru coaxing, before he casts all his senses forwards instead to keep a look out for any traps.

As they walk through the abandoned Heijō Palace proper, Kisuke gradually becomes aware of a low bank of miasma roiling through the grounds like a thickening mist. He gestures at the unnatural mist at their feet, and then points towards the direction where it is even denser; Ichimaru gives another curt nod and steers Matsumoto in that direction.

Each step they take is like wading through filth. Kisuke isn’t particularly religious about cleanliness, but he resolves to take a proper bath right after this. Even if it’s not an auspicious day for bathing.

He shields his eyes instead, straining his supernatural senses to pick up the faint eddies in the fog instead of casting a spell to dispel it, so as to avoid the risk of alerting Aizen to their presence. They’re almost there; the miasma in this courtyard is so thick that it blots out the sun, just like what Kisuke sensed the previous day.

Kisuke holds up a hand to signal Ichimaru to shrink back, Matsumoto in tow. With his other hand he takes aim carefully, lips moving in a silent spell, and then fires off a bolt of pure destructive energy.

Aizen notices at the very last moment and evades; what was meant for his heart drills a hole through his shoulder instead. Possibly fatal for a human if left untreated, but in Aizen’s case…

Even as Kisuke watches, the wound knits itself back together as though sewn by an invisible hand. No, he rather thinks that an instantly fatal wound will be necessary to counteract the healing properties of the stolen star ball.

“So you’ve come, Urahara Kisuke.”

Kisuke isn’t surprised that Aizen can recognise his handiwork; after their protracted battle over Karin-hime’s soul, Aizen must be just as familiar with Kisuke’s aura as Kisuke is with his.

“Long time no see, Aizen-san.”

Aizen does not appear to notice the sarcasm. “Yes, seven days, isn’t it?”

Kisuke ignores the rhetorical question. His gaze drifts across Aizen’s torso, noting the unusual choice of accoutrement. He is hardly acquainted with Chief Onmyōji Aizen, but the glowing jewel encrusted over his sternum is no _human_ accessory.

“Your fashion sense has really trended towards the avant-garde during this time,” he says, fluttering his fan.

“All things in the middle of their metamorphosis appear unsightly,” Aizen replies, smiling.

“Whoever called it unsightly?” Kisuke wonders aloud, most of his attention fixed upon the star ball embedded in Aizen’s chest. It’s a bold move, he will acknowledge that. They won’t be able to simply take it from Aizen; they will have to kill Aizen to retrieve it. “You seem to have fused with the star ball,” he comments.

Aizen’s smile broadens. “This is no mere _fusion_.” He turns to face Kisuke properly, as though showing off his new addition. “I will have you see it as _subjugation_,” he continues, “a feat that no human has ever been able to achieve.”

Kisuke blinks. That phrasing, it’s almost like…

Aizen sighs, as though disappointed by the lack of resignation and awe on Kisuke’s face. “It seems that you are unable to accept defeat gracefully. Very well then, let me teach you the difference in power between us.”

Matsumoto, the last time Kisuke checked, had seven tails’ worth of power. As a celestial fox, Kisuke has nine tails and another century of growing into his full power. No matter how one looks at it, the power differential should not be overwhelmingly in favour of Aizen, unless…

Does Aizen honestly think he is _human_?

Kisuke flows out of the way of the first attack, his long sleeves trailing behind him like it’s an elaborate dance. Aizen is wielding a sword, an interesting choice for a former onmyōji, but he is not as inexperienced with it as Kisuke would have thought.

_One._

He leaps into the air again and again, just a step ahead of Aizen at each turn. It’s a closer call than he would like to admit, but the fact that he has had over a century to learn how to wield his power gives him the barest edge in speed.

_Two. Three._

Kisuke skids past his landing point gracelessly, whipping one long sleeve up to entangle Aizen’s sword before it can run him through. He turns the clumsiness into a spin instead, adjusting his position until he is back at his original projected landing point.

_Four._

He feints here and there, conjuring a shield of air that he can bounce off to change his direction mid-air, but his luck finally runs out. With movements that should have been too quick for a human, Aizen alters his own trajectory to match, his sword stabbing upwards.

Kisuke chokes as he falls out of the air, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

_Five._

Aizen rears back when the body skewered upon his sword is revealed to be nothing but a paper shikigami. He looks around wildly as an audible chant starts up, but all he can see is five identical Kisukes surrounding him in a circle, standing equidistant from each other. Each of them has his fan pointed towards him, chanting something under his breath.

Aizen snarls, throwing the sword down and charges at a random one, but it’s too late. The gravel in the courtyard shudders, a beam of light racing from one Kisuke to the next in the shape of an equidistant five-pointed star, trapping him in the centre.

The strongest sealing realm Kisuke can muster: the Pentagram Seal. His specialty invention, its power drain is so incredible that he doubts anyone with less power than him will be able to perform it; certainly, to be able to split their power into four identical clones and still have each powerful enough to anchor one point of the seal suggests that this is not a feat possible for kitsune with less than eight tails.

“Now!” he shouts.

Ichimaru lunges out of the miasma like an avatar of vengeance, claws fully extended. The claws skid off the barrier with an unholy screech, and he shoots Kisuke an irritated look.

“Non-physical attacks only,” Kisuke coughs.

Ichimaru’s eyes are still narrowed in annoyance, but he thrusts his fist forwards and makes a wrenching motion at approximately chest-height.

“Wha –” Aizen’s voice is cut off by a gurgle of blood. He looks down disbelievingly at the huge hole in the middle of his chest, the star ball dangling like it’s hanging by a thin thread.

“Soul-rending poison,” Ichimaru explains shortly to Kisuke, not taking his eyes off Aizen. He’s right to do so; despite missing half his chest, Aizen still seems to be regenerating, albeit much slower than before.

That fact isn’t lost upon Aizen either. He looks straight at them and begins to laugh. “Is this the best you’ve got, Urahara Kisuke?”

“Of course not,” Kisuke replies breezily, and then raises his voice. “Finish it, Ichigo!”

On the other side of the courtyard, Ichigo blinks back into existence with his bow already in hand, the presence-erasing talisman Kisuke had given him fluttering to the ground as he unleashes a hailstorm of arrows.

“It’s over, Aizen!” he shouts as the first of the arrows pass through Kisuke’s barrier. “Secret Quincy Technique: _Sanctuary Realm_!”

Aizen twists his body to avoid them, but the arrows explode upon contact with the ground, sending waves of immense destructive energy rolling through the confined space. Kisuke has to squint to see through the maelstrom, but what he sees is heartening. Aizen is on his knees, clutching at his chest, and there will be no better chance.

He exchanges a meaningful look with Ichimaru, and decisively drops his sealing realm.

Ichimaru charges forward, throws up an arm to block the worst of the destructive energy, and rips the star ball from Aizen’s chest. At the same time, Kisuke shifts his position so that Matsumoto is directly behind him, deflecting the remnant energy with a sweep of his sleeve.

They wait another few tense minutes, but Aizen does not so much as twitch this time.

Ichimaru nods at Kisuke and retreats in the direction of Matsumoto. Kisuke remains where he is to give them some privacy. After a moment of deliberation, he snaps his fan open and utters a short sharp trigger word.

What is left of Aizen’s ceremonial costume begins smoking faintly, the flames feeding upon themselves as the conflagration envelopes him.

After a moment, Ichigo comes up to stand beside him. “I’ve dismantled the rest of Aizen’s formations,” he reports, eyes not leaving the cremation in front of them.

Kisuke nods in honest gratitude. Even that primal spell to start a fire has been more exhausting than he is expecting; he isn’t sure he will be able to muster up the energy to do that too.

A gentle breeze picks up, the miasma around them dissipating like morning mist, the wind carrying the ashes away.

The crunch of gravel behind them alerts them to Ichimaru and Matsumoto’s return. Steeling himself, Kisuke turns around.

Well. Matsumoto certainly looks a lot better; whole, like broken pottery pieced back together with gold-dusted lacquer, but with time Kisuke can see that that she will be stronger than before.

Although… perhaps it will take more time than expected.

Ichimaru straightens from his bow of gratitude, meeting Kisuke’s eyes with a little rueful smile. So it’s not just a side-effect of having her star ball recently restored, then. Matsumoto has indeed lost all but one of her tails.

Matsumoto too straightens from her demonstration of gratitude. She looks much more subdued than the bubbly airhead Kisuke has grown accustomed to during these few days, but Kisuke can see none of the despair or fury he would have expected from a kitsune who had just lost six centuries of her cultivation to a power-hungry human.

“You are welcome to stay in the capital until you are ready to move on,” Ichigo declares suddenly.

It’s not an offer they expect; it’s not an offer _Kisuke_ expects, even though he really should – how many more times will Ichigo surprise him like this? Kisuke is hardly precognitive, but for a moment, he sees their future lying out in front of them like a road paved in more colours than Kisuke can count, each step a foray into the unknown.

“Hey.” He blinks, and the Ichigo of the present is in front of him, holding out a hand. “Ready to go home?”

Home. That’s right.

Kisuke smiles and takes Ichigo’s hand.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final fight scene is basically the final fight in the first Onmyōji movie crossed with the start of Kisuke's Fake Karakura Town fight and set to ONE OK ROCK's 2018 concert.  
Ichigo's secret technique is modified from Kirchenlied: Sankt Zwinger (TYBW).

**Author's Note:**

> Japanese history notes because some people said they liked that kind of thing:  
\- Kitsune hierarchy: nogitsune/yako are ‘bad foxes’, zenko are ‘good foxes’, and tenko (Kisuke) is specifically a celestial fox i.e. a nine-tailed kitsune who’s over a thousand years old. The colouration is visibly different; tenko are white/blond, normal kitsune are red/brown.  
\- The Head Priest/ess of Ise Grand Shrine is always a member of the imperial family. It’s a more euphemistic way of saying “I’m the emperor”.  
\- The first permanent capital of Japan was established in Heijō-kyō (modern day Nara) in Year 710. Previously, the capital moved each time the emperor passed on.  
\- The capital was moved to Heian-kyō (modern day Kyoto) in Year 794, after a brief stint in Nagaoka, because the Buddhism influence grew so powerful that the imperial family became Concerned.  
\- This fic is set around Year 1010, near the end of the Heian period, and around 200 years after the palace in Heijō-kyō was abandoned. In modern day there is just about nothing left at the actual site, but the author imagines the ruins would still be present back then.  
\- Kisuke is about a millennium old, which means he was on his seventh tail or so when Heijō-kyō was abandoned, and it was not part of his territory at the time so he never had the interest to visit. He only grew interested in Heian-kyō because it’s the first time the humans held one single capital for so long. A celestial fox’s territory expands exponentially when they transcend; Kisuke currently holds (roughly, since kitsune territories aren’t divided like human ones) Kyoto, south to Mie, north to Kanazawa, and east to Nagoya.  
\- Ichimaru Gin’s accent implies that he’s from Osaka (old name Naniwa), which is just shortly due west of Kyoto.  
\- Aizen had no idea a celestial fox was resident in Heian-kyō because, as abovementioned, humans aren’t well-informed about supernatural territories. Sucks to be him.
> 
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